


Parallel

by PepperPrints



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post series. Alphonse's traveling leads him to Ishval, and Scar can't comprehend what compels him to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parallel

**Author's Note:**

> Originally intended for 31_days, but not finished on time. Prompt: Sell yourself for a profit you can’t spend.

At first, Scar did not recognize the boy at all.

 

Scar had not seen either of the Elric brothers after the end of the Promised Day. He heard that the eldest brother had given up his alchemy, and that the younger had his body returned to him. Scar felt satisfied, reassured enough by merely hearing of their success, since he did not expect to see it firsthand quite so soon.

 

Apparently, he had been mistaken. Much had been changing around this country, and the latest piece of of ingenuity had been stretching the reaches of the trains. Scar did not make a habit of watching who came and went on the tracks, but when the latest crowd emerged, the bright blond hair and golden eyes were far too distinct for Scar to miss.

 

The boy's face broke out into a smile when he noticed him, and a still too-skinny arm raised up in a wave. “Scar!” Alphonse Elric cried, with such delight that Scar felt momentarily confused.

 

Having that much enthusiasm directed at him simply seemed utterly misplaced.

 

–

 

“You rode all the way from Xing?”

 

Alphonse nodded hurriedly, his mouth too preoccupied with chewing for him to respond with words. Scar had a hard time puzzling out if it was exhaustion from the trip that made the boy so hungry, or if he still felt a debt from all those years without a body.

 

They sat in Scar's home now, kneeling at the table. Scar ate nothing, but Alphonse seemed to be eating plenty enough for them both. Scar was not well versed in smalltalk. Even before the war, he was mostly quiet and to himself. The only person he spoke to at great length was his brother. Now, he had even less to say. Even after all that Scar had done, the boy seemed to have already forgiven him. He happily entered Scar's home and told him about the journey he was taking, all without a hint of reservation.

 

He spoke to Scar like he was an old friend.

 

“Mmh-- yeah,” he replied, reaching for his glass and taking a large gulp of water. “I was working with May Chang – oh! Speaking of, she wanted me to give this to you.”

 

The boy fumbled for his suitcase, which he had set down beside him, and opened it up. After a bit of digging, he pulled out a small package and held it out to Scar.

 

“She says Xiao-Mei misses you,” Alphonse added, and Scar doubted that very much. The girl's cat had been strangely fickle, and Scar never did end up ever touching it. “She said a lot about you, actually...”

 

Scar wondered at that. Perhaps some of the girl's stories had warmed Alphonse Elric into a much kinder view, but Scar still found it odd. He opened the box, and inside it was a small charm. It was made of braided threads and a few round pendants. Scar recognized none of the symbols there, but he could guess their meaning when Alphonse elaborated.

 

“It's for luck,” he explained. “She made it herself.”

 

Scar accepted this without comment, setting the charm back in the box and resting it on the table. “It's a surprise you left so soon,” he remarked, and Alphonse immediately flustered.

 

The boy laughed, and it was more of a nervous sound than an amused one. He was suddenly very interested in staring at his plate. “Why does everyone say that?”

 

Scar arched a brow. “I thought you would still be studying.”

 

“Oh,” said Alphonse, looking startled and embarrassed. “Oh, that.” Scar found the response strange, but he didn't pry. Quickly, Alphonse distracted himself with another mouthful of bread. He chewed several times before he swallowed, and he spoke again. “Actually, it's why I'm here too...”

 

Alphonse finished eating, neatly folding his hands in front of him. “I was wondering...” he began, very tentatively, like he was stepping on eggshells. “Your brother's research: is there any more of it left?”

 

–

 

Despite the tattoos on both his arms, Scar did not consider himself an alchemist in the slightest. His brother had been the scribe, the one who designed these complicated arrays that created and destroyed; Scar simply wielded them. Even so, he kept them hidden under the sleeves of his robes. He had no use for them now. Alchemy could have made the reconstruction of Ishval incredibly swift... but it felt dishonest.

 

Still, Scar would have used it if his people asked for it, but so far everyone had agreed.

 

“Wow,” said Alphonse quietly, standing in front of the bookshelf with quiet awe. “This was all his?”

 

Scar nodded his head. “There was more,” he replied, his voice steady and neutral, “but it didn't survive the war.”

 

Alphonse turned back towards him, those gold eyes widening, and then he glanced back at the books. This time, he must have noticed the wear and tear on the spines, and the charred edges.

 

His home had been destroyed, and Scar was not the one responsible for digging through the rubble and retrieving these last remaining mementos; that had been his master, always wiser than the pupil. Had Scar been in his right mind, he would have done that himself.

 

“You probably heard,” Alphonse started quietly. “Maybe from Marcoh... but he's gone for good. I saw him die.”

 

There was no questioning what Alphonse meant, and Scar's lips curved into a deeper frown. “Yes, I heard,” he affirmed.

 

Of all the State Alchemists who perished at his hand, the one most deserving of punishment had escaped him. The man got what he deserved in the end, which should have been enough to satisfy him, but the notion still made his stomach churn.

 

Alphonse frowned, and he spoke suddenly to break the heavy silence. “Do you mind if I look at these?” he asked boldly. “I promise not to damage them.”

 

Scar couldn't imagine what damage the boy would inflict. However, he supposed most of the books did look ready to fall apart. “Read them,” he encouraged. “Someone should.”

 

–

 

Having his own duties to attend to, Scar left the boy to his reading. He didn't come back until late into the evening, when the cold of the desert began to settle in. He didn't expect for the boy to still be there when he returned, but he could see light from the windows, and the door was still unlocked.

 

When Scar came inside, the sight that greeted him caused him to still. Alphonse had fallen asleep at his desk, research papers and books strewn around him, like a poor replacement for bedsheets and pillows. There was even a pen still clasped within his hand, stilled in the middle of some scribbled transmutation circle, and Scar wondered if he found exhaustion hard to gauge in this new body of his.

 

Then again, it might have had nothing to do with that at all; perhaps it was just the determination of alchemists. How many times had he returned home to find his brother like this, passed out in the middle of his study?

 

A nostalgic feeling welled up in Scar's chest, and his hands clenched restlessly. The way the boy's hair was spread out against the papers, the way his dark lashes stood out against pale skin, and the rise and fall of his breathing...

 

“ _Brother. Wake up.”_

 

“ _Mh? Oh... what time is it?”_

 

“ _It's late. Come on.”_

 

“ _Ah, you don't have to carry me... I'm the big brother; I'm supposed to put you to bed – not the other way around.”_

 

Scar was still and silent. It seemed unfair to wake Alphonse. With his brother, the concern had been strong and suffocating. He hadn't liked the alchemy, ever since the beginning. His dislike spread after the war, and he remained bitter when it came to the State alchemists, and the rules they forced upon them. These boys too had been a part of that, selling themselves for a profit that they could not spend.

 

The boy began moving, his once calm expression pinching into something more troubled. He made a bit of sound, struggling a little as he slept. It might have been a nightmare, or it might have been discomfort from the way he was sleeping. After a brief hesitation, Scar reached out to grasp the boy's shoulder and gently shook him. If Alphonse slept for too long in his position, he would be sore by morning.

 

“Wake up,” said Scar quietly, and the boy squirmed.

 

“Mh...?” intoned Alphonse sleepily, his lashes fluttering. “Brother?”

 

Scar froze and gold eyes fixed tiredly on him. “Oh. Scar,” said Alphonse sleepily, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eyes. “Sorry. What time is it...?”

 

Again, that tight feeling in this chest.

 

“...late,” replied Scar shortly, offering a steadying hand when the boy sluggishly sat up. “You can sleep here – just not on the floor.”

 

Alphonse laughed a little bit, leaning into Scar and letting himself be guided upstairs.

 

–

 

Scar's room was modest, with nothing really personal about it, and Alphonse still glanced around with interest, as if it might reveal something. He guided the boy down onto the bed, and Alphonse made a sleepy protest. Scar brought Alphonse's suitcase up with them, and he set it down beside him.

 

“But, this is your room, isn't it?” he asked, struggling to sit up again. “Where are you going to sleep?”

 

“Elsewhere,” replied Scar shortly, and he began to step away, but Alphonse's slender fingers closed around his wrist.

 

“Wait.” Alphonse fixed gold eyes on him and Scar was still. “This is going to sound funny, but...” Alphonse bowed his head slightly. “Could you stay here a little bit, until I fall asleep?”

 

Scar felt hesitant, and the boy nervously continued. “I'm still not used to sleeping,” he confessed. “When I lost my body, I didn't need to, and now that I have it back... when I'm falling asleep it feels like my body's slipping away again, and I always wake myself up.”

 

Slowly, finger by finger, his grip slipped away from Scar's tattooed arm. Scar stood, seeming impassive, as he debated the idea within his mind.

 

“I will stay,” he assented at last, and the boy smiled tiredly up at him.

 

“Thanks,” Alphonse said quietly, and he snapped his suitcase open, digging for a change of clothes.

 

–

 

Scar only intended to linger here until he was certain the boy was asleep, and then to leave him be. He sat at the desk to read, watching the boy from the corner of his eye, and he waited – but once the boy was asleep, it certainly wasn't peaceful.

 

Alphonse made strained little sounds, his hands twisting into the blankets, and every so often his body rolled from one side to the other. Scar frowned, remembering that the boy had struggled similarly when Scar found him before, and he debated waking him again... but that would do little good if the boy truly remained this restless.

 

Scar rose, moving to the bed and settling down next to him. He offered out his hand, and the boy gripped it with surprising strength for one supposedly unconscious.

 

“Brother,” he breathed softly, and Scar's eyes widened minutely.

 

Alphonse was holding his right hand so tightly – the same arm his brother had given up for him, and the same side that Edward Elric had sacrificed for Alphonse. The two of them, the younger brothers, who had been saved... was that why Alphonse came this far, and trusted Scar so much? Did he find the two of them so similar?

 

Scar squeezed the boy's hand and he slowly sunk onto the bed beside him. He tried to be as quiet as possible, but Alphonse still stirred awake, peering up hazily at him. “Hn? Scar?” he intoned, confused, and Scar lay his hand on his head. The dark shade of his flesh stood out against the gold of Alphonse's hair as he urged him down against his pillow.

 

“Go back to sleep,” he said, but the boy was stubborn. He turned so they faced each other, gazing up at him. Scar frowned and he elaborated. “You were having a nightmare.”

 

Alphonse blinked, looking startled, and then he glanced aside. “Oh,” he said quietly and he smiled self-deprecatingly. “I should be too old for that.”

 

Scar wasn't sure about that. “I have nightmares,” he told him bluntly, unselfconscious, and Alphonse stiffened a bit beside him.

 

“From the war?” he asked, rather needlessly, and Scar felt no need to confirm it. Alphonse was quiet for a moment, then he inched closer. “Thanks.”

 

Alphonse had been saying that often, and Scar found it utterly misplaced. He was not deliberately cruel, nor was he deliberately very kind. He was obliging, and that was the extent of it.

 

Alphonse moved his hand, touching that spot on his arm where Scar's flesh ended and his brother's began. Scar tensed on instinct, and Alphonse looked thoughtful, if not a bit unhappy. “I'm sorry,” he told him, and that was even more misplaced than his gratitude. “I couldn't imagine losing my brother.”

 

So that was it.

 

“Sleep,” he murmured quietly, and he could feel the tension bled out of Alphonse's body. The boy curled up next to him, clutching Scar's arm tightly against his chest as he made himself comfortable

 

He didn't move an inch for the rest of the night.  
  


–

 

“What was your brother like?”

 

This was not the breakfast conversation that Scar expected. He lifted his head to find Alphonse feeding himself with one hand, and holding a book with the other. Apparently, he intended to read and hold a conversation at the same time. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd spent the night here that was making him so casual in his conversation; Scar hadn't meant to share as much as he did. He expected the boy to be shy about it afterward, but he was actually seemed much more at ease now.

 

Scar never had to explain his brother to anyone, and he found himself short of words. “If you don't want to, you don't have to say anything,” Alphonse added tentatively, and Scar shook his head.

 

He took another moment to consider his response before he spoke. “He was brave and he was kind,” said Scar simply, without looking at the boy, and that was all he felt inclined to tell. Alphonse kept looking at him, not expectant for more but instead accepting the blunt reply, and he smiled.

 

“You must have loved him a lot,” he said.

 

It went without saying, yet hearing it aloud gave Scar pause.

 

“Yes,” he answered quietly.

 

There was a small thump as Alphonse closed the book and set it down. Scar looked up, and found that the boy was smiling at him softly.

 

“It's okay; I understand,” said Alphonse. “I think, anyway.”

 

Scar paused, his brows tightening somewhat. He wasn't sure what the boy was trying to imply, but he rose to his feet, coming around to Scar's side of the table and touching one of his tattooed arms.

 

“Is it all right if I stay awhile longer?” asked Alphonse. “I want to keep reading.”

 

“...yes,” responded Scar, uncertain why the boy would come so close for such a simple request – but then his intent became clear.

 

Alphonse leaned in and pressed his lips to the scarred flesh on the bridge of his nose.

 

“I see why he loved you,” said Alphonse sincerely, his face just slightly red, and he hurried off into the study without another word. Scar was left alone, the feel of the boy's lips lingering on his skin as he stared after him.

 

He wished the boy would have elaborated, since Scar himself didn't see it at all.


End file.
